Part 14

And then, near noon, within a forest brake, The ban-dogs roused a red gigantic stag, Lashed to whose back with gnarly-knotted cords, And borne along like some pale parasite, A man shrieked: tangle-bearded, and his hair A mane of forest-burrs. The man himself, Emaciated and half-naked from The stag's mad flight through headlong rocks and trees, One bleeding bruise, his eyes two holes of fire. For such the law then: when the peasant chased Or slew the dun deer of his tyrant lords, If caught, as punishment the withes and spine Of some strong stag, a gift to him of game Enough till death--death in the antlered herd, Or slow starvation in the haggard hills. Then was the great Duke glad, and forthwith cried To all his hunting-train a rich reward For him who slew the stag and saved the man, But death for him who slew both man and beast. So plunged the hunt after the hurrying slot, A shout and glimmer through the sounding woods,-- Like some wild torrent that the hills have loosed, Death for its goal.--'Twas late; and none had yet Risked that hard shot,--too desperate the risk Beside the poor life and a little gold,-- When this young Kuno, with hot eyes, wherein Hunt and impatience kindled reckless flame, Cried, "Has the dew made wet each powder-pan? Or have we left our marksmanship at home? Here's for its heart! the Fiend direct my ball!"-- And fired into a covert packed with briers, An intertangled wall of matted night, Wherein the eye might vainly strive and strive To pierce one fathom, gaze one foot beyond: But, ha! the huge stag staggered from the brake, Heart-hit, and fell: and that wan wretch, unbound, Rescued, was cared for. Then his grace, the Duke, Charmed with the eagle aim, called Kuno up, And there to him and his forever gave The forest-keepership.

But envious tongues Were soon at wag; and whispered went the tale Of how the shot was "free"; and how the balls Used by young Kuno were "free" bullets--which To say is: Lead by magic molded, in The presence and directed of the Fiend. Of some effect these tales, and of some force Even with the Duke, who lent an ear so far As to ordain Kuno's descendants all To proof of skill ere their succession to The father's office. Kurt himself hath shot The silver ring out o' the popinjay's beak-- A good shot he, you see, who would succeed.

The Devil guards his secrets close as God. For who can say what elementaries, Demonic, lurk in desolate dells and hills And shadowy woods? malignant forces who, Malicious vassals of satanic power, Are agents to that Evil none may name, Who signs himself, through these, a slave to those, Those mortals who call in the aid of Hell, And for some earthly, transitory gift, Barter their souls and all their hopes of Heaven.

Of these enchanted bullets let me speak: There may be such: our earth hath things as strange, Perhaps, and stranger, that we doubt not of, While we behold,--not only 'neath the thatch Of Ignorance's hovel,--but within The stately halls of Wisdom's palaces, How Superstition sits an honored guest.

A cross-way, so they say, among the hills; A cross-way in a solitude of pines; And on the lonely cross-way you must draw A bloody circle with a bloody sword; And round the circle, runic characters, Weird and symbolic: here a skull, and there A scythe, and cross-bones, and an hour-glass here: And in the centre, fed with coffin-wood, Stolen from the grave of--say a murderer, A fitful fire. Eleven of the clock The first ball leaves the mold--the sullen lead Mixed with three bullets that have hit their mark, And blood the wounded Sacramental Host, Stolen, and hence unhallowed, oozed when shot Fixed to a riven pine. Ere midnight strike, With never a word until that hour sound, Must all the balls be cast; and these must be In number three and sixty; three of which The Fiend's dark agent, demon Sammael, Claims for his master and stamps for his own To hit aside their mark, askew for harm. The other sixty shall not miss their mark.

No cry, no word, no whisper, even though Vague, gesturing shapes, that loom like moonlit mists, Their faces human but of animal form, Whinnying and whining lusts, faun-faced, goat-formed, Rise thick around and threaten to destroy. No cry, no word, no whisper should there come, Weeping, a wandering shadow like the girl You love, or loved, now lost to you, her eyes Hollow with tears; sad, palely beckoning With beautiful arms, or censuring; her face Wild with despondent love: who, if you speak Or waver from that circle--hideous change!-- Shrinks to a wrinkled hag, whose harpy hands Shall tear you limb from limb with horrible mirth. Nor be deceived if some far midnight bell Strike that anticipated hour; nor leave By one short inch the circle, for, unseen Though now they be, Hell's minions still are there, Watching with flaming eyes to seize your soul. But when the hour of midnight sounds, will come A noise of galloping hoofs and outriders, Shouting: six midnight steeds,--their nostrils, pits Of burning blood,--postilioned, roll a stage, Black and with groaning wheels of spinning fire: "Room there!--What, ho!--Who bars the mountain way?-- On over him!"--But fear not, nor fare forth; 'Tis but the last trick of your bounden slave. And ere the red moon rushes from the clouds And dives again, high the huge leaders leap, Their fore-hoofs flashing and their eyeballs flame, And, spun a spiral spark into the night, Hissing the phantasm flies and fades away. Some say there comes no stage; that Hackelnburg, Wild-Huntsman of the Harz, comes dark as storm, With rain and wind and demon dogs of Hell; The terror of his hunting-horn, an owl, And the dim deer he hunts, rush on before: The forests crash, and whirlwinds are the leaves, And all the skies a-thunder, as he hurls, Straight on the circle, horse and hounds and stag. And at the last, plutonian-cloaked, there comes,-- Infernal fire streaming from his eyes,-- Upon a stallion gaunt and lurid black, The minister of Satan, Sammael, Who greets you, and informs you, and assures.

Enough! these wives' tales told, to what I've seen: To Ammendorf I came; and Rudolf here With Kurt and his assembled men in buff And woodland green were gathered at this inn. The abundant Year--like some sweet wife,--a-smile At her brown baby, Autumn, in her arms, Stood 'mid the garnered harvests of her fields Dreaming of days that pass like almoners Scattering their alms in minted gold of flowers; Of nights, that forest all the skies with stars, Wherethrough the moon--bare-bosomed huntress--rides, One cloud before her like a flying fawn. Then I proposed the season's hunt; till eve The test of Rudolf's skill postponed; at which He seemed embarrassed. And 'twas then I heard How he an execrable marksman was; And tales that told of close, incredible shots, That missed their mark; or how the flint-lock oft Flamed harmless powder, while the curious deer Stood staring, as in pity of such aim, Or as inviting him to try once more. Howbeit, he that day acquitted him Of all this gossip; in that day's long hunt Missing no shot, however rashly made Or distant through the intercepting trees. And the piled, various game brought down of all Good marksmen of Kurt's train had not sufficed, Doubled, nay, trebled, there to match his heap. And marvelling the hunters saw, nor knew How to excuse them. My indulgence giv'n, Some told me that but yesterday old Kurt Had made his daughter weep and Rudolf frown, By vowing end to their betrothéd love, Unless that love developed better skill Against the morrow's test; his ancestors' High fame should not be tarnished. So he railed; Then bowed his gray head and sat moodily: But, looking up, forgave all when he saw Tears in his daughter's eyes and Rudolf gone Out in the night, black with approaching storm.

Before this inn, crowding the green, they stood, The holiday village come to view the trial: Fair maidens and their comely mothers with Their sweethearts and their husbands. And I marked Kurt and his daughter here; his florid face All creased with smiles at Rudolf's great success; Hers, radiant with happiness; for this Her marriage eve--so had her father said-- Should Rudolf come successful from the hunt.

So pleased was I with what I'd seen him do, The trial of skill superfluous seemed; and so Was on the bare brink of announcing, when Out of the western heaven's deepening red,-- Like a white message dropped of scarlet lips,-- A wild dove clove the luminous winds and there, Upon that limb, a peaceful moment sat. Then I, "Thy rifle, Rudolf! pierce its head!" Cried pointing, "and chief-forester art thou!" Why did he falter with a face as strange And strained as terror's? did his soul divine What was to be, with tragic prescience?-- What a bad dream it all seems now!--Again I see him aim. Again I hear her cry, "My dove! O Rudolf, do not kill my dove!" And from the crowd, like some sweet dove herself, A fluttering whiteness, rushed our Ilsabe-- Too late! the rifle cracked.... The unhurt dove Rose, beating frightened wings--but Ilsabe!... My God! the sight!... fell smitten; sudden red, Sullying the whiteness of her bridal bodice, Showed where the ball had pierced her innocent heart.

And Rudolf?--Ah, of him you still would know? --When he beheld this thing which he had done, Why, he went mad--I say--but others not. An hour he raved of how her life had paid For the unholy missiles he had used, And how his soul was three times lost and damned. I say that he went mad and fled forthwith Into the haunted Harz.--Some say, to die The prey of demons of the Dummburg ruin. I,--one of those less superstitious,--say, He in the Bodé--from that blackened rock,-- Whereon were found his hunting-cap and horn,-- The Devil's Dancing Place, did leap and die.

THE MOATED MANSE

I

And now once more we stood within the walls Of that old manor near the riverside; Dead leaves lay rotting in its empty halls, And here and there the ivy could not hide The year-old scars, made by the Royalists' balls, Around the doorway, where so many died In that last effort to defend the stair, When Rupert, like a demon, entered there.

II

The basest Cavalier who e'er wore spurs Or drew a sword, I count him; with his grave Eyes 'neath his plumed hat like a wolf's whom curs Rouse, to their harm, within a forest cave; And hair like harvest; and a voice like verse For smoothness. Ay, a handsome man and--brave!-- Brave?--who would question it! yea! tho' 'tis true He warred with one weak woman and her few.

III

Lady Isolda of the Moated Manse, Whom here, that very noon, it happened me To meet near her old home. A single glance Showed me 'twas she. I marveled much to see How lovely still she was! as fair, perchance, As when Red Rupert thrust her brutally,-- Her long hair loosened,--down the shattered stair, And cast her, shrieking, 'mid his followers there.

IV

"She is for you! Take her! I promised it! Take her, my bullies!"--shouting so, he flung Her in their midst. Then, on her poor hands (split, And beaten by his dagger when she clung Resisting him) and knees, she crept a bit Nearer his feet and begged for death. No tongue Can tell the way he turned from her and cursed, Then bade his men draw lots for which were first.

V

I saw it all from that low parapet, Where, bullet-wounded in the hip and head, I lay face-upward in the whispering wet, Exhausted 'mid the dead and left for dead. We had held out two days without a let Against these bandits. You could trace with red From room to room how we resisted hard Since the great door crashed in to their petard.

VI

The rain revived me, and I leaned with pain And saw her lying there, pale, soiled and splashed And miserable; on her cheek a stain, A dull red bruise, made when his mad hand dashed And struck her to the stones; the wretched rain Dripped from her dark hair; and her hands were gashed.-- Oh, for a musket or a petronel With which to send his devil's soul to hell!

VII

But helpless there I lay, no weapon near, Only the useless sword I could not reach His traitor's heart with, while I chafed to hear The laugh, the insult and the villain speech Of him to her.--Oh, God! could I but clear The height between and, hanging like a leech, My fingers at his throat, tear out his base Vile tongue! yea, tear, and lash it in his face!

VIII

But, badly wounded, what could I but weep With rage and pity of my helplessness And her misfortune! Could I only creep A little nearer so that she might guess I was not dead; that I my life would keep, Dedicate to revenge!--Oh, the distress Of that last moment when, half-dead, I saw Them mount and bear her swooning through the shaw.

IX

Long time I lay unconscious. It befell Some woodsmen found me, having heard the sound Of fighting cease that, for two days, made hell Of that wild region; ventured on the ground For plunder: and it had not then gone well With me, I fear, had not their leader found That in some way I would repay his care; So bore me to his hut and nursed me there.

X

How roughly kind he was! For weeks I hung 'Twixt life and death; health, like a varying, sick And fluttering pendulum, now this way swung, Now that, until at last its querulous tick Beat out life's usual time, and slowly rung The long, loud hours, that exclaimed, "Be quick!-- Arise!--Go forth!--Hear how her black wrongs call!-- Make them the salve to cure thy wounds withal!"--

XI

They were my balsam: for, ere autumn came, Weak still, but over eager to be gone, I took my leave of him. A little lame From that hip wound, and somewhat thin and wan, I sought the village. Here I heard her name And shame's made one. How Rupert passed one dawn; How she among his troopers rode--astride Like any man--pale-faced and feverish-eyed.

XII

Which way these took they pointed, and I went Like fire after. Oh, the thought was good That they were on before! And much it meant To know she lived still; she, whose image stood Like flame before me, making turbulent Each heart-beat with her wrongs, that were fierce food Unto my hate that, "Courage!" cried, "Rest not! Think of her there, and let thy haste be hot!"

XIII

But months went by and still I had not found: Yet, here and there, as wearily I sought, I caught some news: how he had held his ground Against the Roundhead troops; or how he'd fought Then fled--returned and conquered. Like a hound Questing a boar, I followed; but was brought No nearer to my quarry. Day by day It seemed that Satan kept him from my way.

XIV

A woman rode beside him, so they said, A fair-faced wanton, mounted like a man-- Isolda!--my Isolda!--Better dead, Yea, dead and damned! than thus--the courtezan Bold, unreluctant, to such men! A dread, That such should be, unmanned me. Doubt began To whisper at my heart.--But I was mad, To insult her with such thoughts, whose love I had.

XV

At last one day I rested in a glade Near that same woodland which I lay in when Sore wounded: and, while sitting in the shade Of an old beech--what! did I dream? or men Like Rupert's own ride near me? and a maid-- Isolda or her double!--Wildly then I rose and, shouting, leapt upon my horse; Unsheathed my sword and rode across their course.

XVI

Mainly I looked for Rupert, and by name Challenged him forth:--"Dog! dost thou hide behind?-- Insulter of women! Coward! save where shame And rapine call thee! God at last is kind, And my sword waits!"--Like an upbeating flame, My voice rose to a windy shout; and blind I seemed to sit, till, with an outstretched hand, Isolda rode before me from that band.

XVII

"Gerald!" she cried; not as a soul surprised With gladness that the loved, deemed dead, still lives; But like the soul that long hath realized Only misfortune and to fortune gives No confidence, though it be recognized As good. She spoke: "Lo, we are fugitives. Rupert is slain. And I am going home." Then like a child asked simply, "Wilt thou come?...

XVIII

"Oh, I have suffered, Gerald! Oh, my God! What shame! What torture! Once my soul was clean-- Stained and defiled behold it!--I have trod Sad ways of hell and horror. I have seen And lived all depths of lust. Yet, oh, my God! Blameless I hold myself of what hath been, Though through it all, yea,--this thou too must know,-- I loved him, my betrayer and thy foe!"

XIX

Sobbing she spoke as if but half awake, Her eyes far-fixed beyond me, far beyond All hope of mine.--So! it was for _his_ sake, _His_ love, that she had suffered!... Blind and fond, For what return!... And I--to nurse a snake, And never dream its nature would respond With some such fang of venom! 'Twas for this That I had ventured all--to find her his!

XX

At first half-stunned I stood; then blood and brain, Like two stern judges, who had slept, awoke, Rose up and thundered, "Slay her!" Every vein And nerve responded, "Slay her at a stroke!"-- And I had done it, but my heart again, Like a strong captain in a tumult, spoke, And the fierce discord fell. And quietly I sheathed my sword and said, "I'll go with thee."

XXI

But this was my reward for all I'd borne, My loyalty and love! To see her eyes Hollow from tears for him; her thin cheeks worn With grief for him; to know them all for lies, Her vows of faith to me; to come forlorn, Where I had hoped to come on Paradise, On Hell's black gulf; and, as if not enough, Soiled as she was and outcast, still to love!

XXII

Then rode one ruffian from the rest, clay-flecked From spur to plume with hurry; seized my rein, And--"What art _thou_," demanded, "who hast checked Our way and challenged?"--Then, with some disdain, Isolda, "Sir, my kinsman did expect Your captain here. What honor may remain To me I pledge for him. Hold off thy hands! He but attends me to the Moated Manse."

XXIII

We rode in silence. And at evening came Unto the Moated Manse.--Great clouds had grown Up in the west, on which the sunset's flame Lay like the hand of slaughter.--Very lone Its rooms and halls: a splintered door that, lame, Swung on one hinge; a cabinet o'erthrown; Or arras torn; or blood-stain turning wan, Showed us the way the battle once had gone.

XXIV

We reached the tower-chamber towards the west, In which on that dark day she thought to hide From Rupert when, at last, 'twas manifest We could not hold the Manse. There was no pride In her deep eyes now; nor did scorn invest Her with such dignity as once defied Him bursting in to find her standing here Prepared to die like some dog-hunted deer.

XXV

She took my hand, and, as if naught of love Had ever been between us, said,--"All know The madness of that hour when with his glove He struck, then slew my brother, and brought woe On all our house: and thou, incensed above The rest, came here, and made my foe thy foe. But he had left. 'Twas then I promised thee My hand, but, ah! my heart was gone from me.

XXVI

"Yea, he had won me, this same Rupert, when He was our guest.--Thou know'st how gallantry And recklessness make heroes of most men To us weak women!--And so secretly I vowed to be his wife. It happened then My brother found him in some villainy; The insult followed: Guy was killed ... and thou Dost still remember how I made a vow.--

XXVII

"But still this man pursued me, and I held Firm to my vow, albeit I loved him still, Unknown to all, with all the love unquelled Of first impressions, and against my will. At last despair of winning me compelled Him to the oath he swore: He would not kill, But take me living and would make my life A living death. No man should make me wife.

XXVIII

"The war, that now consumes us, did, indeed, Give him occasion.--I had not been warned, When down he came against me in the lead Of his marauders. With thy help I scorned His mad attacks two days. I would not plead Nor parley with him, who came hoofed and horned, Like Satan's self in soul, and, with Hell's aid, Took this strong house and kept the oath he made.

XXIX

"Months passed. Alas! it needs not here to tell What often thou hast heard: Of how he led His ruffians here now there; or what befell Me of dishonor. Oft I wished me dead, Loathing my life,--than which the nether Hell Hath less of horror!--So we fought or fled From place to place until a year had passed, And Parliament forces hemmed us in at last.

XXX

"Yea, I had only lived for this--to right With death my wrongs sometime. And love and hate Contended in my bosom when, that night Before the fight that should decide our fate, I entered where he slept. There was no light Save of the stars to see by. Long and late I leaned above him there, yet could not kill-- Hate raised the dagger but love held it still.

XXXI

"The woman in me conquered. What a slave To our emotions are we! To relent At this long-waited moment!--Wave on wave Of pitying weakness swept me, and I bent-- And kissed his face. Then prayed to God; and gave My trust to God; and left to God th' event.-- I never looked on Rupert's face again, For in the morning's combat--he was slain.

XXXII

"Out of defeat escaped some scant three score Of all his followers. And night and day We fled; and while the Roundheads pressed us sore, And in our road, good as a fortress, lay The Moated Manse,--where our three-score or more Might well hold out,--I pointed them the way. And we are come, amid its wrecks to end The crime begun here.--Thou must go, my friend!

XXXIII

"Go quickly! For the time approaches when Destruction must arrive.--Oh, well I know All thou wouldst say to me.--What boots it then?-- I tell thee thou must go! that thou must go!-- Yea, dost thou think I'd have thee die 'mid men Like these, for such an one as I?--No! no!-- Thy life is clean. Thou shalt not cast away Thy clean life for my soiled one!" ... "I will stay!"

XXXIV

I said.--Then spoke ... I know not what it was. And seized her hand and kissed it and then said,-- "Thou art my promised wife. Thou hast no cause That is not mine. I love thee. We will wed. Isolda, come!"--A moment did she pause, Then shook her head and sighed, "My heart is dead. This can not be. Behold, that way is thine. I will not let thee share the way that's mine."

XXXV